An animal at the corner
Hovering on the boarder
Playing the recorder
Better not to loiter.

--

The Wolf and Executioner

--

She found out that night, that dark, bleak night atwhat should have been the end of their struggles,why Remus had been chosen to be the executioner.

“I’ve got to give you credit, Peter, for doing something worthwhile with your life.”

They had tied Peter up after the final battle to a tree trunk, his body held in a Freezing Charm and an anti-transformation curse on him as well, and had deliberated over what to do with him. It was too dangerous to leave him alive; his animagi form was too small to keep firm track of even in a high-security prison. The Minister of Magic had arrived and had already given them the go ahead to kill him, so the conversation soon turned to whom. Who would want such an appalling job?

“I’m glad you didn’t forget what Harry did for you in the Shrieking Shack.” Remus smiled at his former friend, no trace of malice in his face or voice. “That was good of you, Peter, sending Harry the information on the last horcrux.”

Then Remus had spoken, his voice slightly hoarse and the front of his robes and shirt ripped to expose several long, bloody slashes. He had volunteered with a calm exterior before going over to the tree where Peter was bound shock-still against and sitting down quietly on the grass, wand lazily drawn. From where she watched him a few feet away, it looked as if he was years younger, like he was eighteen and just out of school, his body relaxed and comfortable. But ithad all beenan illusion for Remus had never had a chance to relax after he left school, had spent what should have been his golden days of youth fighting a war that had simply repeated itself in these days of his prime.

“But, you know, I don’t think that act was entirely selfish.” At this Lupin’s lips curled into a tiny, frightening smile. “I think you were growing displeased with your master, or he was growing displeased with you, and you were hoping that Harry could save you again. I don’t suppose you remember what I said to you in the Shrieking Shack, back then, do you? Good, you do. Oh, don’t bother trying to hide it, Peter; I can smell the fear radiating off you right now; the full moon is tomorrow, you know.”

His speech had been the same pleasant tone that he always used, but it had been unforgiving and innately cruel, like a teenager rubbing a snail into the pavement. Most of the Order had left as soon as he had begun talking to Peter, thinking it wise to leave the old friends to themselves, but those who had stayed—Tonks, Hermonie, Ron, and Ginny—realized that, perhaps, a good slapbefore killing Peter would have been less painful than the words as Peter’s eyes had swum and watered with increasing intensity as Remus’s speech flowed on.

“I would like—and I’m not insulting your intelligence by doing this; you’re really very brilliant in your own way—to repeat those words from four years ago to you. But not yet. Oh, Peter, we’ve got so much to talk about and so little time… I mean, you were one of my first friends, right? Well, you never did get over the fact I was a werewolf, but you were there for Sirius, James, and I when we needed you. No, no, don’t try to appeal to me now. I know you never meant it.”

Kingsley Shacklebolt had come back just then to see what was taking the execution so long and had joined the morbid vigil, lips drawn in a fine line when he saw what was going on. He had suggested in a low tone that Remus hurry it up, had said quietly that this was just cruel, but the werewolf had smiled placating before turning back to his monologue.

“I really shouldn’t be wasting so much time, you know. I’ve still got to round up the werewolves with Bill Weasley, and I’ve got to get medical attention for these wounds; I think two of them are poisoned. Anyhow, Peter, I just wanted you to know that they trusted you, but I could always smell your fear. But you were useful then, and you were useful tonight. You life has not been completely in vain.

“But Peter,” and his voice was almost coy in its taunting kindness, almost like a father speaking to his favorite pup, “Wormtail, my friend, the traitor…

“I told you that you should have realized that if Voldemort didn’t kill you, we is dead now, just like Prongs, because of you. If Harry was still alive, he might have appealed to me for you. He was always such a kind boy… But, no. All you have to appeal to…” he paused, eyes slightly unfocused as he raised his wand and disengaged the freezing charm on the man’s throat and lips, a contented, half-demented smile curling his lips, “is Moony. Beg for your life, Wormtail. I want to hear you scream as you die. Good-bye, Peter.

“Crucio.”

Peter had howled, screaming at first pleas for mercy that he would not recieveas he withered against his bonds, eyes shut as all his nerves were set on magical fire. Ginny and Hermonie had turned away after about half a minute, but Ron had stood, his lips pursed in the same manner Shacklebolt’s were, and watched, a hooded look in his eyes that had implied that he thought that the screaming man deserved this. Against her will, Tonks had kept her own eyes trained on the scene, knowing she would be writing the report for the Ministry, and had watched Peter “Wormtail” Pettigrew scream and convulse until his nerves had burned out one at a time.

Slowly...

Slowly, she had watched Peter Pettigrew die and had realized that perhaps Remus had been right all along. The ancient wolf was part of him, deeply, more intimately than she could ever hope to be, and the wolf was dangerous because it had no remorse, no love, not even hate. No, those were human qualities. It was just the wolf, the hunter, the executioner, in his most tragic and elated moments.

And, she found, she hated it when he was right.

--

Sentomegami
2005 August 29